


A Holiday Kiss

by AlixxBlack



Series: Holidays with Merthur [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Flirting, M/M, Mistletoe, holiday fluff, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13639047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack
Summary: Merlin is just trying to do his job while he misses home. Just when he thinks he's found some peace and quiet to do his easiest chore - wrapping gifts - Arthur shows up. Thankfully, mistletoe makes everything easier.





	A Holiday Kiss

            Snow in Camelot doesn’t have the whimsy that Ealdor has during the winter holiday season. Out in the middle nowhere, the piles of snow are the purest whites one can see anywhere. The trails are only disturbed and altered by the few hoof prints of incoming travellers looking for temporary shelter. There is nothing more satisfying than taking in a deep breath of cool air after working through the day. Merlin loves those memories.

            In the kingdom, it is very much the opposite. Merlin keeps his head down as he carries three different baskets filled with trinkets and treasures that Arthur’s been having delivered and traded in the lower city. Ahead of him, the prince laughs as he waves at people he recognized from the castle. This isn’t the first Christmas holiday that Merlin is spending with the Pendragon family, and it likely won’t be the last, but it is another in a growing line of holidays where Merlin gets no recognition.

            “I barely recognized you, Mathilda!” Arthur comments as a very young maiden passes by. Gwen has been ill for weeks and has not been able to keep up with holiday demands. Mathilda is a teenager a few doors down from Gwen’s home, and was recruited to run various errands for Morgana in the lower city. Everyone wins, really: Gwen keeps her job, Morgana still gets help, and Mathilda gets shopping coin for her own family.

            Unfortunately, Merlin loses in a way. Arthur flirts with her each time he sees her around – well – anywhere; “You are too kind, my lord.” Surely he must have said something complimentary before Merlin’s brain began tuning back into his nonsense babbling. Though he would normally keep working and force the prince back on their path, his arms are tiring and needing of a break.

            So he pauses and listens coyly to the conversation between the two.

            “I only mean to lift your spirits.” Arthur reaches out to touch her shoulder but she steps back, bowing as she distances herself. Merlin has not heard anything that would suggest she feels uncomfortable. In fact, the only thing he did hear was that Mathilda is quite shy and taken aback that the prince shows her so much attention. There’s been nothing negative or positive said on the matter. Merlin reminds himself to ask Gwen if he sees her later.

            Mathilda stays put for only a moment before raising her hand at Merlin, “Lovely to see you, Merlin!” And off she goes. He keeps the baskets on the ground, observing the dirty brown snow littering the alleyways where people generally do illegal trades, or engage in some, erm, _private_ activities. The air smells of firewood and wet clothes. Everything about winter in Camelot exists in exact opposition of the seasons he knew and loved in Ealdor before moving.

            “MERLIN!” Arthur barks somewhat unexpectedly. Inevitably he has to yell for his manservant to rejoin his trek back to the castle, however Merlin was not paying attention and the tone of voice did catch him off guard. Scoffing loud enough to make the prince frown, Merlin grabs the baskets once more and begins following again.

 

* * *

 

 

            Morgana is waiting by his chamber door giggling with Gwen. She immediately invited Arthur to join her on a luncheon planned by the King. Apparently the family proposed a marriage, provided Morgana found their son suitable. She already knows the knight, she explains for too long, detailing each and every possible flaw a man could have in any way. Arthur antagonizes her but chooses to join her, relieving Gwen from her duties early.

            Though, she mentioned a need to hang decorations in Morgana and Arthur’s shared library. It’s not actually a library, of course, because Morgana hides letters she doesn’t want to read there while Arthur shoves a variety of unwanted documents in every crevice. The room is really a trash room, but neither Gwen nor Merlin dare joke in such a way. Each of them fears they’d be ordered to clean it up and make it into a library.

            Which, unfortunately, is what Merlin knows will ultimately become of this task. He knows this because Arthur insists that the manservant relieve Gwen of this task too. The look of her faces assures him that she suspects this as well, and her holiday kindness dissipates.

            “I’ll have to do something nice for your birthday.” Gwen insists as she passes. If it weren’t for her sideways grin and bright eyes he may have swatted at her. Still, he figures there’s nothing better than a holiday afternoon free of the prince, and so Merlin remains positive.

            Everyone goes their separate ways and Merlin tracks down the decorations needed for the room: garland, mistletoe, ribbons, bows, table covers, and even small dolls made in the likeness of well known kings and queens from Camelot’s history. Before he can place any of these things he must make the room presentable. It is without doubt that this will become a busy room as Morgana denies dozens of courtship requests, marriage proposals, and reviews various events to which she is invited.

            “The need for privacy,” Merlin laughs while stuffing as many papers into bins and crates around the room with as much organization as possible, “As if _they_ need the privacy.” Of course, he could understand why Morgana wants to have a place where nobody would bother her. Unlike Arthur, the young woman is always being propositioned for this, that, or the other. Merlin rarely sees Arthur bothered by much other than his manservant’s absence.

            The prince can’t seem to function without him.

            Merlin’s makes no effort to clean quickly, knowing that when the Prince comes to find him that he’ll likely follow up this duty with another. Inevitably it will involve packaging presents, something for which Merlin has no developed affinity. Each year he offers to wrap them in his own chambers but Arthur insists and watching him do it – usually with fresh ale and some stew. He finds the whole ordeal to be comical, apparently.

            So once he manages to get the place looking decent enough, he starts with the smallest things. Placing the dolls and table covers takes nearly no time. From there tying bows and placed ribbons _strategically_ does eat more of the minutes from his schedule, but the biggest drain – he plans – is with the garland and mistletoe.

            Garland is such a messy piece of work, and Merlin cleans the stables – so to make such a remark, even silently, is quite a large statement to make on the matter. The only benefit that Merlin sees in the whole charade is being able to use his magic. He can place multiple hooks in the walls and furniture without lifting a finger. Of course, he could be doing the same with the garland itself but he mustn’t do too much and risk being found out. Thus, he does only the most difficult tasks. Or the most tedious ones, whichever proves to be a bigger bother to the warlock…

 

* * *

 

 

            Merlin found that he didn’t want to leave the library. Hours melted away and not a soul has come to find him. For a few minutes he even celebrated the fact that he wasn’t needed for such a long period of time. Oftentimes he feels as if each person he knows wants him at the same time to do various things. He only wishes for a free moment, especially during holidays, because that gives him a chance to spend time alone in the quiet.

            For this reason, it was quite some time ago, that Merlin chose to tend to Arthur’s gifts in the library as well. The appeal of having a getaway became clearer and clearer each moment that the manservant went uninterrupted by another. It doesn’t last as long as Merlin wishes, though. Soon enough the prince comes along to destroy those free hours.

            “Why the hell have you stayed in here, Merlin? Where’s my supper?” Arthur grumbles airily. Merlin almost feels the relaxation leave his body physically, but manages to smile in total disregard of his frustration.

            In a bit of bite, he replies; “I’ve only done my duties, sire. Would you rather me have wandered off?”

            “To the tavern, probably…” Arthur whispers too loudly for it to be a slip up. Merlin wouldn’t mind kicking Gaius in the shins a few times for making up the same lie each time he was off _saving someone’s life_. The whole of the Knights of Camelot believe that Merlin hides from Prince Arthur in the bloody tavern. This only forces a frown onto Merlin’s lips. To hide it he carries many of the prince’s gifts to a corner to store in a trunk that has been empty for far too long. Perfect for gift storage and, or, hiding.

            Arthur follows, though; “I see that frown, Merlin. Where’s your holiday spirit this year? I’ve not see you excited for Christmas even once since the snow fell.”

            Images of Ealdor flood his mind, as well as images of his mother packing snow up to throw at Merlin before running off with some stupid task in mind. Sometimes it is a last minute gift; sometimes it was to play with Will. Once it was actually check a trap he’d set up out of town for small game, hoping for something mealy for the holiday. Before he can reply with seriousness in his voice, sarcasm and wit emerge from his lips – not wholly realizing what it is he’s saying.

            “Can’t smile under the mistletoe when I’m alone. Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Naturally, Merlin had hung the mistletoe in two places of the room where absolutely nobody should be standing together, lest they were already engaging in more intimate activities to begin with, which means there’s one above his very head. How he registers this while thinking of home, he cannot say, but he’s already made his comment in haste. He’ll pay the consequences as he usually does when mocking and insulting the prince.

            Arthur lets out an expectedly and full laugh at the manservant. Together they look at each other, both equally as confused as the other, though both amused. Merlin cannot resist the urge to smile long and lets it begin tugging at the corners of his lips.

            “I didn’t realize we were under a mistletoe.” Arthur remarks, “I guess I owe you an apology.”

            Merlin’s sass, of course, knows absolutely no ends. At exactly no point did he decide to keep his mouth shut. Instead he just snapped with a grin, “Actually, you owe me a _kiss_.”

            Whatever the reasoning, this breaks so much tension that has been building up over the last few days. Sometimes that’s just how it works with the king and his servant. The two are so used to one another that these behaviors occur naturally and without dilution. When Arthur is angry, Merlin cheers him up. When Merlin is angry, Arthur does his very best to piss him off further until he opens up. In the event either of the two is completely happy about something, inevitably the other makes sure to celebrate in kind. Their friendship is natural in many ways, as if there’s no other way to live.

            Before long Arthur is standing very close to Merlin, scanning his face with a sly smirk on his face. Merlin knows this is the face he uses when he’s trying to figure out what to say or do about something he doesn’t fully understand. Thankfully, it’s not something that is bothering him in a negative fashion. In fact, the prince looks particularly amused.

            “How many times must I tell you that you can’t talk to me like that?” Arthur reminds the manservant, probably for at least the thousandth time. At least once a week the prince must snap about Merlin’s language and tone of voice. The complaints that he speaks to the _crowned prince_ as though he were an _equal_ was absolutely inappropriate, wasn’t it? It certainly had to be with the amount of griping that Arthur Pendragon insisted upon doing on the subject.

            Merlin lifts a hand up, implying that he may have a thoughtful reply. He doesn’t, though, and simply makes a show of shrugging his shoulders. What can the prince do to him? Lordly or not, Arthur Pendragon’s confidence could always use a notch or two to level him out. Arrogance gets unattractive at a point.

            “Alright, then,” Arthur proclaims, hands falling to his sides, “Fine.”

            Merlin nervously grins. What does the prince mean when he says ‘fine?’ Before he can even theorize…

 

            Smash. Arthur’s face sort of slams into Merlin’s face, except not in a playful or jousting fashion. Actually, the prince’s lips are pressed to his own. There’s no proper kissing, but there’s some kind of kissing that’s supposed to be happening – Merlin is positive! It takes several long and awkward seconds before Merlin kind of kisses back, unsure if this was a serious act or a pranking one.

            Even if it proves to be a prank, he can defend his decision to kiss back as an attempt to prank the prankster. After all, he’d once been in a bit of a war with Leon when the knights went through a dull patch of no activities. Merlin did well for himself, even when he wasn’t using his magic to have an edge over his opponent! Though Gaius did scold him for ‘cheating.’

            Much to his surprise, Arthur kisses back too, though. All of the thinking and justification for his choice becomes irrelevant. This is far too much just to be a trick. Merlin cannot even identify the point at which the pair of them remaining kissing became and honest exchange. It takes quite some time before they do stop.

            And when they do they kind of stand there doing nothing.

            It ends up being Merlin that breaks the silence, “I do believe that happened – _really_ happened.”

            Arthur nods in agreement; “That it did, didn’t it?”

            “Yes, sire.”

            “Yes.”

            “So…” Merlin starts, “Shall I get your supper?”

            Thinking takes loner than Merlin anticipates, but eventually the prince nods. Nothing more needs to be said, he presumes, and the two carry on their way as normal. All the while he went around gathering food for the Pendragon boy, he asks himself in a dozen ways whether or not he’d always known of his feelings. Was there a time he could identify when he actually became attracted to the prince? Or was that an in-the-moment experience in which he had no idea until it happened upon him that he could be?

            Merlin has no idea, and perhaps it’s best not to think on it. Clearly Arthur hadn’t spent much reflection time on it. Or maybe he has since they’ve separated. He wouldn’t know for sure the stance of his companion until he returns to the chambers. Considering the possibilities makes his heart race while he rushes around.

            All his worrying is for naught, though. Setting the table is second nature, even for as clumsy as he is, and during this time he observes the room. It is only to take note of his cleaning tasks during Arthur’s dining time, of course, but he does notice one small change about the room. Just above the wardrobe, where Arthur and Merlin argue about what clothing items to pull for the day’s activities, there’s the smallest of mistletoes hanging. It certainly hadn’t been there this morning – Merlin would have had to hang it himself – and this comforts him subtly.

            So, it had meant something to Arthur. A quiet something, but definitely something. Merlin watches Arthur emerge from the hallway, a bit pink in his cheeks; “Of all the days for you to get your work done in a timely fashion – today?”

            He hides his embarrassment well. It brings a smile to his thin lips.

            Maybe celebrating the Christmas holiday in Camelot isn’t quite as beautiful and picturesque as all the years he’d spent in Ealdor, but he couldn’t deny it was special for a variety of other reasons. There will be nothing more special that this year, Merlin is certain, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything really. This is a life worth living. Even if he didn’t actually make the choice, all that fate business and what not, but Merlin is sure he would choose this life anyway.


End file.
